Names
by Cable796
Summary: It's a rarity when a single person can change the world so much with a few choices. It's even rarer when two such individuals meet. (One-shot, may or may not become a full fledged story...) [Male Lone Wanderer and Female Courier, both good karma]


**Hello, everyone! I originally began writing this as a sort of romance between my two protagonists from Fallout 3 and New Vegas respectively; however, as I wrote it, the romance aspect gradually became so subtle, it couldn't even be called a romance. So, I decided that it would suffice as a decent "what if?" story. I intentionally described two as little as possible because I thought it would be cool for you guys to fill in your own characters in your head. After all, we all created different versions of the same basic template. I always enjoyed that about RPG's and tried to channel that appropriately with that aspect. Now, if my muse decides it, then I might eventually continue this, but for now, it's a one- shot. So, enjoy!**

**I do not own Fallout.**

* * *

He sighed, running his hands through his hair in front of the fire. Night on the Mojave wasn't friendly and it had been such a long time since he had a decent bed. But, what could you expect? After all, he should've been dead.

"Dead" is such a relative term. If anything, his adventures prematurely aged him a couple of years, If those blasted aliens didn't first.

Most on this side of the American Wasteland didn't even know his name. But hell, everyone knew his title. He was the Lone Wanderer, savior of the D.C. wastes. Everyone recognized that title and the deeds that went with it. Exile of Vault 101, One Man Bomb Squad of Megaton, Ant Killer of Greyditch, and the list gets longer after that. But there were a few titles he bore with shame. The Accidental Tenpenny Slaughterer, the Too Late Hero, and a few others he bore with the fame. He had such high morals back then, the naive little hero he was.

He scoffed and took a swig of the Nuka-Cola in his fist. No alcohol for him. The aftereffects were too much to deal with in this heat and frankly, he had no idea how others dealt with it. Perhaps it was the old Vegas charm he heard so much about. Or perhaps the locals evolved over time and adapted to- no, no more science. If he started thinking like that again, he might miss his old life. Dog Meat sniffed off to his left, probably just smelling some old can or something. His Brahmin paused in eating its meal to take a look at him. The Wanderer stared at it from his seat on the dusty ground.

In an instant, he was standing with hunting rifle cocked against his shoulder and Dog Meat growling in aggression against the trespassers. The only thing that kept him from pulling the trigger was the woman on the other side of the barrel.

She pulled out her own gun almost as quickly as he did. With a rifle pointed at her, she was quite cool under the collar with a pistol pointed at the Wanderer. Even had her own dog too, a cyborg looking thing, who was growling right back at Dog Meat. He paused before speaking with a calm coldness. "Any reason you're sneaking up on me?"

She replied with the same icy tone. "Just wandering around. Saw a Brahmin and wanted to trade."

A scoff. "I ain't no caravan, kid. Now, get out of here."

"What's with the Brahmin, then?"

"None of your business."

"It must be of some importance. You can trust me."

He almost told her before he realized. She had a tongue that was nearly as silver as his! Damn, she was good. "Don't even know you, kid."

The firelight illuminated her shocked expression perfectly. She was expecting that to work. Their dogs starting to circle the two, he made a drastic choice. Holstering down his weapon, he whistled and Dog Meat stopped his aggression to trot over to his side. Turning to the fire and sitting, he called to her. "Can't force you to go away, can't force you to stay either."

He could only hear her breathing for about a minute before she walked around to the other side of the fire, sitting along with her dog. He took out his Chinese Pistol and began making repairs. It had gotten quite banged up in the last skirmish with a trio of raiders. Nary giving his new companion a look, he felt her gaze burning into him. Deciding to be a gracious host, he spoke first. "Nuka?"

She accepted it, but her response was less than gracious. "Who the hell are you?"

"Should ask you the same thing, Miss 'Just Wandering the Wastes Alone at Night.'"

"I can take care of myself, I'm surprised a guy like you can."

There it was, the old (or should he say 'new') Vegas idealism: Vegas was apparently 'more' dangerous than the rest of the Wasteland and any outsider had to be some kind of weakling. Visibly bristled, he decided to remain calm. She wanted to get a rise out of him. "As if you could actually beat me."

It was her turn to be indignant. "What's that supposed to mean? Can't be killed by a woman?"

"Not if she doesn't know how to shoot straight."

"I can shoot just fine."

"Bullshit. You can't aim worth a damn."

That shut her up. He let her wallow in silence. "How'd you know?"

He took a swig of his Cola before answering. "Shaky grip on your pistol. I saw your Pip-Boy started to prepare itself with that flashing light as well. You obviously heavily depend on V.A.T.S. and let it do the work for you."

She looked at her Pip-Boy and swore. He continued. "If it's any consolation, I hadn't even loaded my rifle yet."

It wasn't. She glared at him before sipping her Nuka. Her cyborg dog nosed her hand and she started to pet it with an absent mind. "What's your story, old-timer?"

He snorted. "Still none of your business."

"You're not the friendliest, are you?"

"Not to nosy wastelanders."

"Would it help if I said I was the Courier?"

His eyebrow rose. "No. And I don't see how telling me your profession would get me to open up."

She let out some sort of exasperated grunt. "Not a courier. THE Courier."

He blankly stared at her. Mouth forming into a shocked 'o', she continued, "you've never heard of me?"

"Nope."

She straightened, her hands making grand gestures. "But I was the one who defeated Lanius! I'm the slayer of Caesar's Legion, hero of the NCR, ambassador for the Boomers as well as the Khans! I've done so much and you've never heard of me?"

To him, she was rambling. Possibly deranged, he guessed. Half of what she said made no sense and the other half, barely so. He shook his head. She sighed. "Figures."

They sat in silence for a while, both just sipping their drinks while their dogs stared at each other. Finally, he spoke. "Fame and fortune ain't what it's cracked up to be, kid."

She glanced at him before staring into the fire. He went on. "After all the adventures you have, after the wastes take everything from you, it'll just keep demanding more. You'll either end up a forgotten memory or a legend, but you'll be dead either way."

"So why aren't you?"

She was smarter than she looked, so not exactly as deranged as he thought. "Who said I wasn't?"

She scoffed. He chuckled. And both slipped into the comfortable silent companionship the other offered, only interrupted by the sounds of breathing and firewood cracking in the flame. It was strange. They didn't even know each other, yet they just felt something. Something that couldn't be explained.

It was as if they found themselves in the other. He ran his fingers through his hair before standing, earning a look from her. He walked over to the Brahmin and opened one of the packs, gathering a few magazines. Depositing them in her lap, he sat back down besides her. Confused, she glanced at the covers. "Guns and Bullets?"

He nodded. "Maybe they'll teach you how to aim."

"Maybe. Why are you giving them to me?"

"Already read them."

"All of them?"

"Few others too."

She gingerly picked one up. The paper was flimsy and she was surprised that it survived with him for so long. Unless they were replacements to one he had lost. That would make sense. Dog Meat circled around and sat by her robotic mutt, sniffing each other in a more friendly greeting. Noticing this, she smiled. "I'm surprised. Rex usually doesn't do well with other dogs."

He grinned as he glanced at the canine comrades. "Dog Meat's the same. Guess he found a kindred spirit."

She stared at him, narrowing her eyes in quiet scepticism. Maybe he wasn't talking about the dogs. That, and, "who names their pet 'Dog Meat?'"

He furrowed his eyebrows in defensive annoyance. "That was his name before I got him. Can't teach a dog to respond to a new name, so why bother giving him one?"

His reasoning was impeccable she was beginning to realize. She opened up one of the magazines, turned to a page, and began reading. Looking over her shoulder from time to time, he offered better advice than the articles as he leisurely sipped his drink. Soon, the dogs were sleeping and he found himself drowsy as well. Looking over, he found her already snoozing with the last magazine in her lap. Shaking his head, he stood and stretched his aching bones. With the gentleness of a yao guai mother with its cub, he picked her up and put her in his sleeping bag. Then, he unholstered his rifle and sat down. He could keep watch for a couple hours. Just this once though.

She awoke to the early morning light. Fuzzy memories of the night before haunted her brain as she sat up. Looking over and recognizing the man talking to his dog was enough to clear her mind. However, silence proved to be golden as he was staring at the map on his Pip-Boy with his back to her. "So, what'll it be Dog Meat? Novac, Primm, or Goodsprings?"

Was he planning on settling somewhere in the Mojave? She frowned. She didn't know enough of this stranger to trust him in the towns she protected. Suddenly, he stopped talking and his head rose to look at the horizon. "Awake already, kid?"

How was he so perceptive? "Yup."

She rose out of the sleeping bag and stretched away her morning aches. Rex looked up from his nap, wagged his tail, and barked. The stranger stood as well, packing up his supplies. He offered an observation. "I guess this is it."

She shrugged. "Guess it is."

He finished tying the last of it down and she couldn't help but notice the power armor helmet extruding from under a blanket. Brotherhood of Steel? Or just strong enough to go toe to toe with them? He looked at her, then offered his hand. "Nice knowing ya, kid."

She huffed and shook it. "Not a kid. You look barely older than me."

He grinned cheekily. "Don't care."

With that, he started walking, Dog Meat shepherding the Brahmin after him. She noted his western course before heading northwest. She needed some down time and Vegas was perfect for it.

It was a few hours before either of them realized they didn't even know the other's name.

* * *

The Tops was busy tonight, attracting all sorts of patrons. The Courier had been extremely lucky and gotten almost 200 caps in winnings; consequently, she was now enjoying herself in the restaurant. Alone.

Over at another table, there was a loud group of mercs enjoying themselves. They were from out of town, by the looks of them. They didn't seem to know how things were done here. All they did was get drunk and brag about past exploits. Bored, she listened in with vague interest.

"- So then he rushes me with a fork! I tell ya, bounties are the best jobs! Find the poor sap and pop a cap in their ass: 300 caps, easy!"

One of his buddies pointed out the flaw in his philosophy. "Unless they're good with a gun. Then, they collect off you!"

This sent the table into a laughing fit. All she did was roll her eyes. Tempted to discontinue her eavesdropping, her attention was caught on the merc who banged his cup on the table. "Shut up!"

"What? Too many memories of the big, bad 101?"

Again, the jackals howled their amusement. The angry one stood, allowing her to see his face. A scar ran diagonally on his face, from his left eyebrow to the right corner of his mouth. "You wouldn't be laughing if you met him! I'm still the only one of Talon Company to survive a run-in with that bastard!"

"Yeah, because you got knocked out and he didn't bother to see if you were dead!" Another storm of chuckles.

One of the smaller ones spoke up. "What's the big deal? He's dead, isn't he?"

The table groaned as Scarface grinned. One of them muttered, "here we go again."

Scarface chuckled. "He ain't gone. I know for a fact he's still out there. The Lone Wanderer only pretended to die, got everybody believing he's gone. But, he's still out there. I know it."

She watched on, intrigued. These men seemed to be the scummiest type of person, only above raiders on her shit list. Who took bounties out on defenseless wastelanders? They did apparently. She glanced at the nearby Chairman as Scarface sat back down. The no weapons rule was easily skimmed around, but she had to be able to get the group alone to take care of them. Suddenly, something was said at the table that completely astounded her. "That mutt of his, Dog Food or something like that, is almost as scary as him. I hear he once tore out the throat of a Super Mutant!"

The dog's name was too similar to the one she met out on the Mojave to be any coincidence. As much as she pretended that she didn't care, she couldn't stop thinking about the strange man she met in the dark of the night. Perhaps, it was just her curious nature, the same one that got her into trouble so many times before. But that trouble had always yielded great rewards...

Instantly, her plans changed. She stood and prepared herself. This situation called for a little feminine finesse. Inwardly groaning as she walked with an exaggerated sway in her hips and her chest thrust out just enough, she approached the group with a smile that could only be described as sultry. "Hi there, boys."

The pack of mercs turned to her, eyes roaming with predatory leers. Oh, she was totally going to kick their asses later. Would she use her pistol or the laser rifle? Perhaps a grenade or two? Her smile widened in sincerity at that thought. Later, she reminded herself. For now, "what's this about a Lone Wanderer? Give me..."

She sat on Scarface's lap and began tracing her finger in circles on his armor. "Every."

Her breath warmed his neck. "Last."

Her mouth brushed his ear. "Detail."

* * *

Novac was quiet in the late afternoon. And it drove him crazy.

The Dino Dee-Lite Motel was the last place the Lone Wanderer expected to end up in. It had been a few days and already, he was beginning to feel restless. He wanted to go out, explore, or at least walk around. But, he didn't want to risk throwing away his chance at a new life. Instead, he sat on the bed and read the few readable books in his possession.

Now, he was on the last page of the last book. Sighing, he put it down. That was the fifteenth time he read it. And he didn't even like the cliffhanger ending, considering the bombs fell before the writer finished the sequel. Dog Meat whined at his feet, bored as well. Deciding that the both of them could use some music, he switched on the radio.

The smooth tones of 'Mr. New Vegas' filled the room. The Wanderer scowled. Three Dog was definitely better than this clown. Still, he was better than the Enclave stations.

"Hello, New Vegas. It's me, your host, Mr. New Vegas and we have a little treat for you today. A small team of my colleagues was able to retrieve the entire story of our hero, the Courier. Through countless weeks of research and first-hand witnesses, we now have the documented tale of her. With the help of a few local talents, we produced a reenactment in radio drama form. Now, relax and sit back as we begin 'Tales of the Mojave: A Courier's Account.'"

The Courier, huh? He chuckled at the memory of that woman. Was this what she was talking about? He leaned forward and listened intently. Perhaps this wouldn't be too bad...

* * *

In Freeside, no one bothered her as she dealt with the trash. They knew better than to pick on one of the King's allies. That, and she was technically defending herself. She was able to get Scarface out of the Strip with the temptation of sharing a room at the Atomic Wrangler. His buddies decided to follow at the promise of prostitutes and a sex bot; apparently, the smallest one had a thing for a domineering machine. Who knew? However, one of them got a little too handsy on the way and when she refused his next advance, he pulled a gun on her.

No one pushed her around. She drew her own piece, which was far bigger and more menacing then their flimsy 9 millimeter pistols. Just like she promised herself earlier, she went to town on their asses. Two of the six surrendered after she took took out the first four and she let them run off, not realizing Scarface was one of them.

Looting their bodies provided a few new toys for her to play with. Must be the stuff found over in the Capitol Wasteland she heard so much about tonight. With a high whistle, she summoned Rex back from his customary visit with the King whenever she went to the Strip. She didn't like him sitting alone in front of whatever casino she decided to visit for fun. In a few moments, the dog was at her side and she was packed up. "Time to go home, boy. Need to store some of this stuff."

Barking in what seemed to be agreement, he followed her out of Freeside and into the Wastes. When she said home, she meant all of them. Spanning the Mojave, she had a number of places she stored supplies and used as her living quarters if she had business in the area. She called them safehouses, places where she really was safe.

The trip to each one was long and tedious, tending to be uneventful save for a few insect problems. After putting a massive dent in their forces, the Raiders didn't have enough manpower to attack her or really anybody else. She assumed they were licking their wounds or just too high off Jet or Psycho to care.

Without anything else to think about, her thoughts revolved around the things she discovered. She wasn't the only savior to walk the irradiated earth of the world. In fact, she wasn't even the first. He had her beat by almost four years. In reality, everyone knew about the Vault Dweller and the Chosen One, but to be compared to them was pretty big. And the Lone Wanderer was apparently on their level. From what others told her, she was supposed to be up there too.

But, there was a problem with that. The thing is about saviors is that they tend to be one in a billion. To have two of them walking the same world at the same time, it was calling for trouble. Cosmic balance would be out of whack and all that. It may sound bad, but she almost hoped he was dead and that man she met in the night was just some guy, unimportant and not some big shot hero.

Looking down at Rex, she asked him, "am I a bad person?"

With only a tail wag and a sneeze as a response, she turned back to walking. "You're such a big help."

Rex barked and she swore it sounded like a laugh.

It didn't take long to visit all her safe houses. By the time dawn came, she was opening the gate to the last one. Her room in the Novac motel was probably the home she favored the most. Heck, even the Brahmin dung she just stepped in couldn't dampen her spirits.

Wait a sec. Traders weren't coming through for another two days. What the hell was a Brahmin doing outside the Dino Dee-Lite?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening and a familiar voice. "Don't wander off too far now, Dogmeat. We don't have Fawkes around to sniff you out anymore."

A bark and a dog came bounding down the stairs, obviously recognizing the smell of the robo-dog and his human pet. Rex chuffed in greeting and ran forward to meet him while the man from that one night trudged down as well. Speak of the devil.

He grinned. "Well, long time no see. How are you doing, kid?"

"Still not a kid. And what's you doing here?"

He shrugged while leaning against the stairwell. "Looking to settle down here. There's a few houses open, but I haven't exactly worked out the full arrangements with the rest of the town. You?"

"I live here. In one of the rooms. "

He blinked. "Huh. Small world."

She smiled. He didn't know that she knew about his dog who just so happened to share a name with another dog belonging to a certain Lone Wanderer. "Indeed."

She stared at him, trying to imagine shorter hair and less beard. From the description graciously provided by the mercs, she could definitely see the man they feared before her. But if her hunch was right, he really let himself go. He waited for her to say something else, but after a while of her blatant staring, he spoke up. "So, I gotta say that you're quite the celebrity around here."

She cocked her head, confused. "You could say that. I thought you didn't know of me..."

"I didn't, but the tale that Mr. New Vegas spins is quite compelling."

"Ah."

He noticed immediately the scarlet coloring her cheeks in the early morning light. "Something wrong?"

"Let's just say that the radio drama is a little bit... embellished," she said, crossing her arms in discomfort as her gaze pointedly fixed itself to Rex.

"Oh." They stood there for a few minutes, suffering the awkward silence for the sake of their pets having fun. She stared at the two dogs, wondering how it could possibly be so easy for them to suddenly be best friends. It would be much easier if she was a dog. She glanced at the man, locking gazes with him for a few brief seconds. They were sizing each other up in a new light before he looked away. Strange. Why would he be so interested in her? A jolt of small fear courses through her. Did he know that she knew? Before she could think anymore, he spoke again. "Well, it was nice seeing you again and all, but I have some things to do. So, take care! C'mon, Dogmeat."

With that, he headed up to his room and retreated into his privacy with his canine companion on his heels. The door slammed shut and she released the breath she had been holding. This was going to be fun, wasn't it? Living next to a possible living legend while tiptoeing around the facts that she was technically one as well and that he wasn't supposed to be alive. Great.

As she hiked up the stairs, she shrugged. In all reality, he may not even be the Lone Wanderer! He could just be some guy who happens to look a lot like him as well as have a dog named exactly the same.

When she unlocked the door to her room, she realized something. She didn't even know his name.

* * *

He sat down at the desk with a grin, not knowing why. Before he knew it, he had a piece of paper and a pencil and began sketching. He was halfway done before he remembered.

His smile twisted into a scowl. In an instant, he crumpled his work into a ball and threw it across the room. Damn it all! No. Not now and not ever. His head slumped into his hands propped on the desktop. Why couldn't his own memories just leave him alone?

A small thought was born at the back of his mind. That Courier girl was good, but she'd need a lot more work to be a good marksman. Maybe he could teach her a thing or two. It would get his mind off his past. He gave a small smile, picked his head up, and nodded to himself. It was decided then. He would go over tomorrow and give the offer. It struck him how strange how everyone just kept calling her "The Courier."

That's when he discovered that he didn't even know her name.


End file.
